


Hymns for the Immortal Wind

by maarzanna



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Elves, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maarzanna/pseuds/maarzanna
Summary: Fantasy AU. After the death of his father Arthur must take the throne as King of Camelot and fill his place in the High Council where all the decisions concerning Albion are made. Arthur seeks to integrate the magical folk who have been ignored despite their own claim to the forests in the land, having representatives of the Faërie Court, the Mages, and Alfheim, the Elven Kingdom sit in the council. Arthur will not only have to prove himself as the king, but fight through the loss of his father and the shock of emotions the sudden return of Merlin—Prince of the Elves and his former lover—causes in him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for being so patient and understanding, I’ll be forever thankful. And also big thanks to Marmaladica who did such beautiful art, I’m still crying of happiness over it❤️ This is the first time I’ve managed to finish and I’m happy of having completed this challenge that I had with myself

The first hint of rain caught him unaware, a single, cold drop gliding down his face. He licked it away when it touched his lips, its sweetness melting on his tongue. The torrent that followed had Arthur soaked through the bone, the gelid air bit at his skin numbing his senses. Petrichor heavy and rich on the atmosphere. The smell of damp earth and wet grass overflowing. 

Ominous dark clouds covered the sky as far as his eyes could see, yet, instead of turning back Arthur continued his ascent. He wanted to go higher, reach the summit and scream at the top of his lungs until they flared with the intoxication of breathlessness. Maybe then he’d get rid of the nothingness chasing after him. 

He’d asked for solitude and the sky delivered. He was the only one chasing the storm. It was better than thinking, if he stopped his mind would be filled with ghosts and doubts. Once the burial rituals were over he ran, Arthur couldn't stay. The wailing of the banshees a somber warning and reminder, he could still hear them, crying his father's death. He loathed to think of his father, once strong and imposing defeated by time and disease. Uther Pendragon’s final resting place was a mound of earth, surrounded by stones, towering over like guardians and witnesses. 

His father was gone and Arthur had no one left. 

He was an orphan, a child of air and nothingness. 

A sharp pain pierced through his chest, tears came unbidden and didn't go away. The rain masked them, distracted Arthur from the hurt, from the somber thoughts, from the darkness that already had a hold on him. 

Arthur imagined the rivulets of water growing, causing a flood and becoming rivers chasing a path of life between the mountains, going beyond the woodland where he could see the green foliage veiled by mist. He could almost hear the Tree Spirits speaking softly with the wind. 

The road got steeper, his footfalls less precise, more shaky than assured. Beneath him, the sodden soil added difficulty to his trek. His boots were soon covered in mud, his clothes were a second skin. He stepped on a rocky patch losing his footing, everything went sideways, he shoot out his hands to break the fall but he he wasn't fast enough. He landed on his knees, his left hand was in an odd position, it hurt to move. 

“Fuck,” he swore. “Fuck.” His voice echoed, a primeval sound of despair. He was dirty and tired. Cradling his arm he let himself fall back, the rain had slowed to a drizzle and he closed his eyes, reveling in its sudden gentle touch.

The world around him was pulled into stillness. 

“Sire?” 

Arthur lifted his head, searching the owner of the voice. Trust Leon to follow him. He was just as drenched as Arthur, hair glued to his face, his expression a mixture of worry and uncertainty. With one look at him Arthur knew Leon had been only a few steps behind, letting him think he owned his freedom. That he could leave everything, become a farmer in a faraway land. Maybe in another life.

Leon was loyal to a fault, always ready to intervene should Arthur succumb to devious plots against him, or his own stupidity. Arthur had the urge to scream again, to send him back. He wanted to hide like when he was a child and refused to go to bed, his poor nursemaid chasing after him around the castle. 

Leon got closer, stared at his form trying to merge with the mountain. An almost smile grazing his lips. Arthur was reminded of a time when they had chased each other, up and down and across rivers and lakes. Proclaiming to be the best, the strongest. Pretending to be Knights on a quest. Arthur had never stopped thinking of Leon as a close friend, but the years had changed them, each with a duty of their own. A role to play. 

“Sire,” Leon tried again. “Arthur. Twilight is near, we cannot stay here. You musn’t.” 

“I know,” he said. In the half-light of day things were starting to take a different shape, the wind howled, untamed spirits came out from their hiding place. 

Danger no longer hid just in the darkest part of the forest.

*

Gaius wasted no time in calling him a foolish boy. He chastised him until Arthur felt ashamed of his rash actions, he could admit he had been wrong. He hung his head, took a deep breath as Gaius dabbed one of his cuts with a foul smelling concoction he swore would help him to heal quickly.

Arthur briefly pondered the possibility of this being Gaius’ way of showing him a lesson, having him smelling of rotten flowers. The stench following him, leaving a trail behind him. 

“You can’t do that again. Run off without a word, it was unwise of you,” Gaius said shaking his head, his eyebrows impossibly high. When he was a young boy he’d been intimidated by the way those eyebrows rose, by the seriousness in Gaius stance whenever he would catch Arthur digging through his old books and vials, memorizing the names on the labels. Today it was a comfort to know some things remained the same. 

Gaius finished patching him up and Arthur up from the chair, looked around, Gaius chambers felt safe, the smell of herbs brought memories of his childhood, how he longed for the freedom of those days. 

“I promise I won’t make any decisions without thinking about it twice,”Arthur said, picking up a small bottle, a reddish-brown tincture, the label faded. 

“You don’t have to make any promises to me, my lord,” Gaius answered. 

Arthur winced, the title hurt, and coming from Gaius, someone he considered family, it was worse. 

“I don't like this,” he admitted. “I-- How am I supposed to be a good and fair king when I don't know what I’m doing, when I just… feel lost.” Arthur had not dared to voice his fears, his doubts, he didn't want to be treated like a confused boy, rootless and aimless. Not when so many were waiting for him to fail to swoop in and seize the throne. 

“My dear boy, I know you and I know who you are, and I believe you’ll be a just king. I’ll be happy to see you wear that crown.” Gaius was sincere, he truly meant his words. 

Arthur was grateful. He needed someone to believe in him. 

It had been a long, long time since anyone had trusted and believed in him blindly.

*

The following days passed in a haze. From the moment he woke Arthur had duties to attend to. Meetings with council members, forging and keeping relations with the other kingdoms, making sure under his rule all lives would be safeguarded. Going through the High Council’s trials to ensure he was fit to represent them as his father had done during his lifetime. There were days when he missed the patrols, that as a prince he had grown accustomed to. Despite of his desire to go out, enjoy the air and time away from the castle, sharing a quip with his knights, there were more pressing business than his need for adventure.

His life had changed overnight. He had been bred to rule, taught from an early age the ways of a noble, one day you’ll be king, his father had told him countless times. His bedtime stories were full of knights and bravery, of kings and queens with choices to make. Kingdoms to be ruled, and magic to be protected and feared. 

With his father gone the reality he had imagined was mere fantasy. Death had never crossed his mind. Though nothing was eternal. 

Having power to make the decisions which could change lives wasn’t easy. His dominion over the lands of Albion was frightin. He had the power to make decisions which could change lives, and that, that wasn’t easy.

He could only hope he was worthy of the power he now wielded. 

But Arthur understood this was his life now, it didn't make him long for a bit of freedom any less, for a word of comfort or a friendly gesture that could remind him he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was. 

“You are the king and I will always follow you, I will fight for Camelot and all of Albion, by your side, my friend,” Leon had told him, one night when sleep had eluded him. 

Arthur smiled, pained, relieved, afraid to let down a friend, a brother. His gratitude won in the end, he was glad to have someone as Leon, who Arthur was sure understood at least a fraction of what he was feeling. “Thank you, my friend,” he’d said. 

The week leading up to his coronation got even more hectic. Arthur had to resort to using his childhood hiding spots, to get a moment alone. Once, Gwaine had found him down in the stables, crouching among the hay to avoid his uncle Tristan who kept badgering him about family honour and duty. 

Gwaine hadn’t bothered to hide his amusement. It was refreshing and welcome to have someone not acting with exaggerated difference towards him, especially when his last living relatives had sworn allegiance to him seeking their own gain. Arthur was not blind as to not see this. He knew the sort of men his uncles were. Much like his father, they changed after his mother’s death. Heartbreak and grief could make you act in strange ways. You heart could harden, your pain could turn to anger. 

Arthur knew first hand what it was like to have love and lose it. 

“Need me to intercept our dear, old Tristan DuBois so you can slip away,” Gwaine had asked, full of smirks and jeering joviality. 

Before he left, Arthur had turned on his feet, said, “Do not speak of this with anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, my lord.”

He had laughed all the way back to his chambers while Gwaine had effectively blocked his uncle from finding him, by distracting him with an onslaught of questions regarding duels, and if he thought a magical duel was just as fair as a physical one, given the damage done could be greater when one could summon fire. And, should a tiny pixie face an ogre? His uncle had stumbled upon words as he answered. 

It was late afternoon, the day before his coronation, when Arthur found himself standing by his father’s grave, the sky announced an incoming storm, light droplets of rain, almost invisible had started to fall, caressing his skin and alleviating his wounds, those that were invisible, secret, and no one but him knew about. 

He sat on the ground, taking a handful of earth and watched as it fell through his fingers. Beyond the trees a lament could be heard, a sorrowful wailing carried with the wind. Arthur shivered, something bitter lodges in his throat. 

“I want to be a good king, I want to be fair,” he said, his voice trembled. “I still want to make you proud.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He saw his parents behind his eyelids, smiling at him. 

Arthur chose to believe they had found happiness together again in the other world.

*

The Great Hall was full with friends and allies, magic folks and mortals, faërie and human, and all those who accepted him as king despite their personal reservations. Despite his young age. Arthur had promised to himself he’d prove he was capable, that those dreams he once had could, and would come true. He’d fight to make them so.

Kneeling before the throne his chest felt tight, like the air in the room was not enough. The Pendragon crest an imposing reminder of the past and the future he had ahead of him. This was the culmination of weeks of preparations, of nights spent awake with apprehension, of missing his father, his mother. Of loneliness creeping up on him in spite of being surrounded by people. 

He kept his gaze on the golden dragon, his chin up, he held his breath as the first words were spoken. “Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs, to ensure Albion survives as one?” 

“I solemnly swear so to do,” he answered, clear and assured. He meant every word, he loved the land he was born in, its people, all of Camelot and the lands beyond the forests. 

“Will you, to your power cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgement.”

“I will.”

“By the sacred law vested in me, I crown you King of Camelot and High King of Albion.” Arthur inclined his head, the crown was heavy upon it. 

Arthur stood up--invested with all the regalia of a sovereign--and faced those gathered. 

“Long live the King!” They chanted, tremors ran through him. He clenched his jaw, keeping every emotion surging inside him locked. He was a king now. 

The night was full of celebratory cheer. Music and entertainers had been secured for the occasion. His uncle Agravaine, despite his hangs up, was taking in by a beautiful, silver haired sidhe, the daughter of the sovereign of the City of Falias. Arthur had been briefly introduced to her in the past. 

Arthur had a goblet of wine in his hand, it left a fruity aftertaste in his mouth, making him less tense and far more amiable towards his guests, even the ones he could've done without. 

“My lord,” Gwaine addressed him, bowing obnoxiously before him. Arthur rolled his eyes out of habit, Gwaine was a known jokester, and much to Arthur’s dismay, he had grown fond of the man. Gwaine was brave, loyal and honest, and those were qualities he appreciated. 

“Sir Gwaine,” Arthur said with the same light tone Gwaine had used. Gwaine chuckled, lifted his own goblet in toast.

“To the king,” he said, before drinking its entire contents. Arthur’s eyebrows rose, he was no lightweight, but Gwaine could probably drink him under the table. Gwaine licked his lips, catching a stray drop of dark liquid on the corner of his mouth. Arthur looked away quickly. Since that one ill-advised night he hadn’t let himself think of Gwaine as anything else but a friend. Some relations were better not being pursued. 

“You should watch your drinking, you still have obligations to attend tomorrow,” Arthur said.”I’d hate to send you to the stocks because of your indiscipline.” 

Gwaine snorted. “Don’t worry about me, I know my limits.” Gwaine regarded Arthur in the way one did when things needed careful consideration. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, drank his wine to distract himself from Gwaine’s gaze. “What is happening?” 

Gwaine took the only empty spot near Arthur, and leaned close so no one expect Arthur could hear what he had to say. “I realize I often overstep some boundaries, that I go through life as if I don't care what tomorrow will bring me, that I tease you because I see in your surrounding a reflection of the life I once knew, but I want you to know when I took an oath to protect Camelot, I also chose to follow you. I chose my king a long time ago.” 

He might be the king but Arthur had no idea how to respond, he expected a lot of things from Gwaine, brazen honesty was not one of them. “I-- I don't -- thank you.” 

Gwaine waved a dismissive hand between them. “You don't have to say anything, I thought it was important to speak my mind. Just don't get used to it, wouldn't want you to think I’d lay my life for yours, or something equally dramatic.” Arthur shakes his head, knowing how to deal with a teasing Gwaine better than with his open thoughts. “If you excuse me, my lord, there are far more pressing matters I need to attend to.” 

Arthur watched as Gwaine marched across the room to stop by Percival’s side, exchange a couple of words with him, and then both leave together, their body language an intimate one. 

Arthur toasted to them. 

Taking advantage of the merriment and impaired senses of his guests, Arthur left the Grand Hall and set in the direction of his chambers. There were guards almost in every passage and corridor, safety protocol Leon had said. 

He was stopped by the sight of a familiar figure standing in the shadows. “It is a terrible offense to invite so few magical folks my lord, and then make me sit next to a sprite with delusions of grandeur,” she said, he voice an echo reverberating across the stone walls. “I am your closest ally after all.” 

“Allies? Is that what we are?” He asked steadily. 

Morgana shrugged, her green eyes sparkling under the fire of the torches. “Yes, in a way. I remember you called us friends once.” 

Arthur chuckled, his mouth curved into a smile. “I would've loved to have you by my side, but i’m afraid it would've been chaos if you sat by my side and my uncles were casted away. You see, there are members of the council who are still reluctant. I’m grateful you are here now.” 

“Couldn't miss it.” 

The fell into step, and walked down the corridor. “How were your voyages across theses mortal lands?” He asked, curious. She always had the best stories. Last time he’d seen Morgana his father was still alive and she’d traveled farther up north to find traces of old magic spread over the kingdoms. Morgana was always seeking something Arthur did not know she would find. 

“Instructive. Eye opening,” she said. “I had a run in with an erkling.” 

Arthur shuddered at the thought. Erklings were nasty creatures, the downfall of many travelers. “I see you survived.” 

“Did you think I wouldn't?” 

“I was hoping you would. My life would be far more tragic without you in it.” 

“I believe you think you are being sarcastic but I detect a hint of truth in your words,” she said, slyly. 

“Yes, well, I recently discovered I should be more grateful,” he told her, thinking about Gwaine's words, Leon’s unwavering loyalty, Morgana's company. 

“I’m glad, that means I can invited here more often.” 

“I’m thinking of making some changes in the council, that is, if the majority of members approves.” Arthur knows it won't be easy, not everyone was confident about him taking on the role his father previously held. 

Morgana tilted her head to stare at him more openly, her eyebrows drew together. “Is that the reason why I saw no delegates from Alfheim?” 

He inhaled sharply and avoided her gaze. “No,” he said, as firm as he could without his voice betraying him, without the tightness on his chest and throat being exposed. It was pitiful how after all this time the simple mention of the elven city affected him. “No. There was someone here from the Alvar, a high ranking official. She left after the coronation ceremony was over.” 

“An army woman.” Morgana nodded as if to assure herself she’d heard right. Arthur was grateful when she made no further comments. He didn't want to think of the past. To think about him. 

They stopped by the window, the night was chilly, the dark sky was mottled with stars, brilliant and constant. 

“It’s a beautiful night, is it not?” She asked. “Such a wondrous sight.” 

Arthur gave her a curious, inquisitive look. Morgana had never been one to wax poetry about the night sky, that was more-- He shook his head. Going down that road would do him no good. Why did his mind and heart insisted on bringing up those memories he swore he’d bury? 

Morgana's eyes were still poised on him. Not for the first time he wonders of her magic allowed him to read his thoughts. She lay a hand on his arm, turning him to look at her. 

“Better things will come,” she said. “Albion will thrive and the Lands of Faërie will find peace.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I saw it.” 

Arthur breathed in the night. Better things would come. His imagination ran away from him before he could stop his stray thoughts, he pictured a kingdom united, magic more alive than ever, free to blossom out in the open.

*

Two nights after his coronation his world was turned upside down once more.

A soft knock came on his door, a tentative rap. He was still awake, and whatever considerations Leon--because it was Leon, he was sure of it--was trying to make because he did not want to perturb his sleep were made were made in vain. was making because he thought Arthur was resting or already asleep, were in vain. Arthur had been trying to put his thoughts into paper, if he was to face the council then he’d have to have well thought out arguments. He wanted to show them he knew what he was doing, it wasn’t just some whim or the foibles of a capricious king. 

Arthur wanted to show how closer, peaceful relation and negotiations could benefit them all kingdoms, mortal and magical alike. 

“Come in,” he called, without looking up from the documents spread before him. , rubbing his eyes with a fist and swallowing a yawn. His back muscles hurt from him slouching in the chair for so long, but he couldn’t stop. When Arthur was determined to do something he wouldn’t give up. He always saw things through. 

It was Leon the one who opened the door, he peeked his head in, his curls falling messily over his eyes. Arthur made a gesture with his hand for him to come closer. He didn’t miss how Leon’s steps faltered as he walked towards him, when he was near the table, he cleared his throat.

“Yes? Is there anything I can do for you Leon?”

Leon sighed, looked down at the floor. Arthur feared the worst, bandits raiding the nearby villages again, death and decay. There had been rumours of poisoned faeries found at the edge of the forest. Lately, it was near impossible for his mind to refrain from going to dark places, fear had a firm grip on him. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else he cared for to be in danger. 

“Speak Leon. Please.Whatever it is, speak.”

“You have a visitor.” Leon spoke the words so softly, almost like he wished they wouldn’t make it to Arthur’s ears. 

“A visitor?” Arthur turned hisof lk ihead to look out the window behind him, it was terribly late. The moon was in its highest point, the only source of light in the blackness of the night. “Who comes at this time?”

“They said it was urgent.”

“Very well, let them in.” Arthur ran a hand through his head. He tried to arrange the scattered papers, and smoothed down his white shirt and breeches, which were not the proper clothes to receive a visitor. “This better be as urgent as they claimed,” he muttered. 

Through the slightly open door he heard voices, the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Leon opened the door and let the guest step inside Arthur’s chambers. Whoever they were, they had gone through the trouble of concealing their identity. They wore a long midnight blue cloak, their face effectively hidden under the shadow of a loose hood. Arthur sprang from his seat, curious, and stood right in front of them. Upon closer look he noticed thin, silver strands of thread running over the dark fabric, like a spider’s web, it shone whenever the light fell upon it. 

Arthur frowned, the fabric was enchanted, he’d recognize the effect of magic upon clothes. He’d seen it before. 

The way Leon shifted and stood behind the person, let Arthur know he knew who it was. 

“You may go,” he instructed, crossing his arms he leaned back against the table behind him. Leon was apprehensive to leave, but Arthur could not tell why, in the end he bowed his head and retired, closing the door behind him with a bang. Arthur looked after him with a frown. Then returned his eyes to his mysterious guest who had yet to utter a single word. 

“Who are you?” 

He heard the deep, punctuated breath the person took. “I apologize, my lord, I realize this is not the time for a visit, but I wanted to pay my respects.”

Arthur couldn’t hold the gasp that escaped his lips, he stood straighter, his eyes burning the cloak’s material, wanting to see through it. He inhaled, almost choking with the air rushing in, and breathed out slowly, he said, “Please, take off the hood.” He was surprised and angered by how pained he sounded to his own ears. 

Two pale hands came up and pulled the hood down. Arthur’s heart was sent into a frenzy as a pair of familiar blue eyes fell on him, brilliant and warm, and suddenly it was like not a single day had passed. He was back there in the forest, chasing after him, lightheaded and bursting with joy, he was in the lake where their touches became intimate, and their bodies joined in surrender and want, and Arthur finally learned what it meant to be whole. He was back in an empty room sitting in the middle of a cold bed, numb but for the misery splintering his insides.

“Merlin,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

He tried for a smile but failed miserably, there was a sad twist to the curl of his lips. “Arthur,” he said, moving closer as if he couldn't help himself, stopping his feet and frowning when he realized what he was doing. 

Arthur seized the opportunity to take him in, to compare this Merlin standing before his eyes and the one who lived in his memories. He looked taller, he was still thin, but his muscles had filled out, like he'd grown into his body and left behind the clumsiness of boyhood and replaced it with the subtle, undefined grace only those of his kind possessed. His hair was messy in a polished way, it was longer and curled under his ears which were adorned with cuffs, silver leaves that bent around the shell, from his neck hung a medallion with the Alfheim emblem. Long gone were the days when he ran barefoot through the forest, and dared Arthur to go with him, and they'd jump naked and free into the lake. 

He was no longer a lanky boy, but a beautiful, strong young man. He was magic come to life. 

He looked every bit the prince he was. 

And Arthur-- he couldn't breath. 

Neither bothered to fill the agonizing silence, they kept their eyes on each other, almost daring the other to blink first and break whatever spell had fallen over them. 

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked, out of all the things he wanted to say he went with the more obvious one. 

Merlin caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the skin. A nervous habit. Arthur focused on that, on their redness, their plumpness. The memory of those lips on his. He licked his own trying to remember what he tasted like. 

"I came to pay my respects," he said, surprising Arthur. He was sure he wasn't going to get an answer. "I'm sorry about your Father. I know how much you loved him, I can't imagine what it feels like to lose him." 

The muscles on Arthur's face pulled tight, he snorted, a vicious sound that had Merlin staring at him wide-eyed, like he was the innocent party in all of this. "Is that what this is?" Arthur asked, the bitterness in his tone hard to recognize. It wasn't him. Except, that it was, old wounds had come undone at the sight of Merlin, they had never healed. "You've come to offer your condolences to the bereaved? I accept them, Merlin, or is it Prince? My lord? Do not worry, Camelot and Albion stand with Alfheim. The Elven race is still our ally, we are not looking to sever our ties." 

Merlin's eyes flashed, his posture was rigid. "This isn't about politics, Arthur," Merlin spit through gritted teeth. Good, he sounded angered, if he felt even a small fraction of Arthur's pain then he knew what was going inside him. "I wanted to find out myself how you were." Merlin deflected, tried a hopeful, winning smile that did nothing to appease Arthur. 

Arthur didn't relent, he couldn't let go of his anger, not so easily. "You have seen me. If there is nothing else to say--" 

Merlin shook his head looking up at the ceiling, he scoffed. "I see you are not in the best of dispositions. I shall come back at another time, once you are not acting like such an immature, fastidious prat." 

"Prat," Arthur repeated. He remembered that word spoken with affection. 

Merlin hid under his hood again, and turned on his heel. Arthur panicked, his stomach dropped, seeing him walk away hurt. "Three years," he said. "You were gone for three years." 

Merlin stopped with a hand poised over the door, his shoulders sagged. His back was turned to Arthur when he spoke. "You might not believe me when I say I have missed you, and I understand, but I have. I have missed you." 

Arthur remained rooted to his spot, unable to form an answer. 

Long after Merlin was gone, Arthur was still repeating every action, every gesture, every word in his mind. Seeing Merlin again cut through him like a knife.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur sat under the shade of a tree close to the lake’s edge. He was surrounded by quietness, the water was still and clear, the sun’s light skittering across it. He bit into the apple he’d cut, the juice dripped down his wrist, he’d never tasted better apples than those found here. This time of year the apple trees that had magically grown ages ago—before he was born and the earth stood as it did today—were ripe with the fruit, that hung red and shiny, and Arthur took every opportunity to enjoy them.

Merlin had loved them once too.

He sighed. It was getting harder and harder to avoid Merlin from entering his mind. Everywhere he went there was a reminder, a memory, a dream. His name was painful to say out loud, it hurt right in the middle of his chest. The morning after Merlin’s visit Leon kept giving him worried looks. Arthur suspected his friend was waiting for him to fall to pieces. He had seen what Merlin leaving him with a stupid excuse posing as a real reason had done to him.

Leon had liked Merlin, he would even dare to say Leon had begun to think of him a as friend too before things ended between them. Leon had favored him above all those who want after Arthur's affection, like Arthur he too beloved that what they had was real. Arthur took his absence hard. Ennui had invaded him during the first month of his departure. 

His father--who had opposed their relationship during its early stages because of the elves longevity--had offered his ear so Arthur could unload his chest, and gave him encouraging words. “Losing love isn't easy,” his father had said. ‘And finding your way back is harder, but you can do it. It just takes time.” Arthur had on,y smiled but never told his father he doubted time was the magical cure when his father still mourned his mother's death and he was forever changed. 

Love coming back to you wasn't easy either. Merlin came back but he was far away still. There was a distance between them that had never existed before. Merlin’s eyes retained their warmth, but they hid secrets Arthur was no longer privy to. There was a wall he couldn't climb. Arthur had seen it. It was odd when they used to share everything. 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

“Hm.” Arthur wasn't the least bit surprised to see Morgana. She looked pale, almost gastly in the daylight. Her red rimmed eyes only enhanced the effect. “Apple?” 

She sat next to him snatching one of the apples on his lap. “It's true then. He is back.” It was an accusation if Arthur had ever heard one. After all, she had been a witness to the follies of their young love. This lake was a testament. A shrine. It was their place. Their lake. Merlin’s and his. 

And he was here brooding. He could have laughed at his state. 

“Don't pretend you didn't know. You must have. You were being all cryptic about good things,” he said. Morgana never wasted her breath on pointless things. “I thought him to be a doppelgänger when I laid eyes on him.” 

Morgana fixed him with a glare. “I can't see everything. The future is hazy at best, I only see fragments. I didn't know he’d return. Not for sure.” 

“No?” Arthur didn't believe her. It was a terrible coincidence Merlin showed up a night after she spoke of her visions. “It's all strange to me.” 

She played with the apple in her hands, her eyes on the calm waters of the lake. “I didn't see him returning, because I saw him in the flesh,” she confessed. The wind shook the trees, the sound of tiny bells, delicate and melodious reached their ears, sprites were nearby. Arthur's heart was squeezed between his ribs. 

“What—what do you mean? Have you known where he was all this time?” 

Morgana shook her head. “It was fortuity I found him. My travels had taken me to the Hulder Valley, a place where hidden magical folk dwell, and— I saw him. He was there on official matters, much like myself.”

Arthur frowned, turning his body towards her. All this time he had pictured Merlin in the Elven Lands, being the prince he was always meant to be, it gave Arthur the solace of knowing where he was, should he ever want to see him again. And now he’s realizing he never knew what Merlin was doing, with whom or where. He feels like an idiot. 

“Did he say why he was in the valley? It is a long way from home.” 

“He wasn’t overjoyed with my presence, he kept mostly to himself. What little he told me was of no consequence. I suspect his people are seeking to heal their relationship with the Huldra and forge new bonds and alliances,” she said, thoughtful, the she turned her face to his. “I must apologize to you.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I spoke to him of you.” She sighed heavily. “And I told him your father was gone. He seemed saddened by the news.” 

Arthur was struck. “You— you. Why? And how did you know about my father?” 

“I sensed it. I’m tied to these lands, my magic stems from here. These are my roots. I felt the moment he left this world.” 

Morgana’s magical powers had always been a beautiful, dangerous enigma to him, she was different from the other faeries, perhaps the human blood that ran through her veins made her special, like Merlin, except her magic came from the waters and darkness, and his was taken from the earth and the light. 

Arthur nodded, swallowing thickly. “It’s fine you told him,” he said. “I can still hear the banshees crying before I go to sleep, if you’d been here I would've thought of them a comfort. You would have wept with me.” 

“I would have. I felt the sadness of his loss,” she said, rising from the ground. The bottom of her green dress was dirty but she didn’t seem to mind. “At least Merlin is back now, I believe you have many things to say to each other.”

“Morgana?” Arthur rested his chin in his palm, looking over to the lonely Elderberry where a sprite tried to pluck the ripe berries, its whole body shaking with the force. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you really think he came back because--” 

“Because of you?” Arthur said nothing, he wanted to hold onto the bits of dignity he still had. Morgana smiled knowingly. “He’s here, isn't he?”

*

He rode ahead, Leon and Gwaine flanking his sides. They’d been following the trail of a creature they did not know what it looked like, or how it’d come to this forest. They were following an invisible image spurred on by the a dreadful sight they had come upon while they were on a patrol along the borders of Camelot.

The apparition of an unicorn--black as the shade, eyes bottomless like pits, horn sharp like a dagger-- had been the first indication of trouble. Black unicorns only could be seen when wicked acts were committed. 

It would be hard for Arthur to forget the mangled bodies of two pixies discarded carelessly under an oak tree, disregarding the sacred ground. A scared pooka hiding behind a mountain of rocks, babbled about a huge monster, when Arthur tried to ask him for more information the pooka transformed into a horse and galloped in the direction they were currently on. 

The farther they went darkness consumed everything in their path, the air was corrupt, a strange ringing floated around them. Bumps raised on Arthur’s skin, his horse had begun to stall, Arthur tried to calm his nervousness to no avail. 

There was something on the cups of the trees spying on them. Arthur could feel it. The hairs on his nape stood up. 

“We can't go on, my lord, we have gone beyond and if we move forward we’ll reach forbidden lands,” Leon said. Arthur knew he was right, no mortal was allowed to the part of the forest where darkness reigned and the sky was pitch-black and starless. Only the moon dared to provide its light. 

Gwaine exchanged a look with him, his mouth was set into a tense line.

Arthur nodded signaling their retreat. 

When they were back in the castle he ordered arrangements were made to host the first High Council meeting since he had been made king. 

It was time he took on his duties full time. He had made a promise to his father and he was going to keep it, he was going to make him proud.

*

A lonely wyvern flew overhead in the dull grey of the sky, its body formed distinctive shapes that took on another when they fell to the earth and turned to shadows. The rain had returned and Arthur could barely remember the last time he’d enjoyed a bright day where sunshine and the sweet aroma of flowers invaded his senses.

He’d taken his horse out for a ride, and managed to get rid of Leon thanks to Gwaine’s convenient intervention, he’d dragged Leon for a peaceful afternoon, in his own words, with him and Percival. Leon had looked suspicious of Gwaine's intentions but left with him nonetheless. 

Arthur was grateful. He understood why others feared for his safety, yet he needed a bit of solitude, being surrounded by people, guarded by his Knights, left no room to be alone with himself and his thoughts. 

He reached the burial site and came to a halt, his horse barely coming to a stop at his command. A lone figure was already there, by his father's grave. Arthur dismounted with trepidation, his pulse was a fast spark simmering under his skin. 

Arthur pulled his horse along behind him by the reins, walking the rest of the way, delaying the inevitable. 

“I hope you take no offense to my presence here,” Merlin said. Arthur stood beside him being mindful of the space between their bodies. He’d never had to before. They always existed in each other's spaces. Touching in some way. Fingers linked, shoulders pressed together...this distance between them was the river keeping the shores apart. 

The mist floating in circles around the mound and rocks left clear why Merlin was there. “No, I don't. I see you're blessing his departure in the ways of your people. I appreciate it.” 

Arthur said nothing else watching the mist rise up to the sky and disappear. The fact his father was gone hit him all over again, when his mother died he was a child, and the definitive end of her short life he could barely grasp, he just knew one night his mother was singing him lullabies before going to sleep and the next she wasn’t there, and it didn’t mattered how much he asked for her, she never came back. Her loss felt like abandonment, like some cruel joke planned by someone who wanted to take her away from him. He’d felt anger most of all. His father dying felt like loneliness, he was set adrift, and a sadness so deep that took root in him was all he knew for days. 

“Thank you,” he said, ignoring the roughness in his voice, the tears pricking at his eyes, unshed because he couldn’t let them fall. 

“I wanted to do something for him,” Merlin said, trying an uncertain smile. “And for you. Even when I wasn’t in his good graces. He was a good man, raised a good son.”

Arthur cocked his head, furrowed his brows. “He did liked you, I know it. 

“Oh. I was under the impression he never liked me being around you all the time. My own father always hated how I spent more time at Camelot than at my own home. No one but my mother could understand what in those mortal lands could be so captivating for me. ” His lips quirked up in a melancholic moue. “They didn’t know you.” 

Arthur drew in a sharp breath. He wanted to listen to Merlin talk about the past, about them. They were real once. His grip on the reins tightened. 

“My father worried about me. About us. He didn’t want me to suffer as he did, magical folk do live far longer than us. But little did he know old age and death would play no part in tearing us apart,” Arthur said, remembering the many talks he had had with his father in regards to his future. 

Merlin’s adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, he screwed his eyes shut and Arthur was startled to see a wet trail down his cheek. Arthur’s fingers itched to wipe the tears away, he’d never liked to see Merlin in distress, much less when he was the cause. He never wanted to hurt him. 

“Merlin? I apologize if my words were unkind to you.”

“No, Arthur. I didn’t mean to--”

Arthur stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. His palm burned at the touch, cloth and bones moving beneath it. Merlin gasped, his blue eyes huge and his lower lip trembled. Arthur dropped his hand immediately. 

Another apology was on the tip of his tongue, this time for overstepping boundaries the years had laid, but the shock of touching Merlin, as fleeting and inconsequential as it was, had his head reeling, his skin flaring with a phantom heat. He had to be the most pathetic person in history. He cleared his throat and found his voice again, said, “I do apologize, about the other night. I was rude to you, I let my feelings about the past cloud my head. I had time to think and I realize the past is simply that, the past and we must leave it where it belongs.” 

Merlin stared at him with an expression Arthur found hard to had meaning to. “The past is the past,” he said after a pause, a hint of sadness in his tone Arthur forced himself no to read into. It was normal to feel saddened by the days gone by, the past harbored a special kind of melancholy in the hearts of men. 

Arthur inclined his head towards him, taking a long look at Merlin, he smiled. “You dress differently now,” he said. “I thought you weren't terrible fond of jewelry.” 

Merlin's hand flew to his forehead and touched the pendant falling above his nose, held back by thin silver chains draped over the dark curls of his hair. “Oh, this,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a genuine small, the sight of it made something get stuck in Arthur's rib cage. “I have developed a special affection for silver and precious stones. My mother has learned to forge elven jewelry after she was allowed in the caves of Alfheim.” Merlin said this with pride in his voice, his mother a mortal woman being allowed to mold elven metal and jewels was unheard of, Balinor had fought to give his wife a place among the elves. 

Once, Arthur had thought that the fact Merlin was the product of a mortal and an elven King, meant that their union would be blessed if and when the chose to join their lives together. In his mind there had never been any iota of doubt they would marry and spend the rest of their lives as husbands, bonded together for eternity. It went to show how naive he had been. He had never considered the politics behind a union such like theirs. Love was not the only thing to be considered. It was never enough. 

“I am glad to hear your mother is doing well,” he said. “I always appreciated her.” 

“And she you.” 

Arthur nodded and turned towards his horse, petting his mane before he mounted right up on its back. The wyvern was still flying on the sky, and another had joined it, the faeries of the mounds had come out, their magic spread across the air. His eyes roamed the earth around them, the skies and nature. Then his eyes landed on Merlin and refused to move away. 

He inhaled deeply, Arthur was about to do one of the hardest things in his life. He extended his hand, offering it to Merlin. “I offer you my friendship,” he said, as clear and honest as he could. If Merlin was back and close to him, then Arthur wanted him back in his life too. In whichever way that might be, if a friendship with Merlin was all he could aspire to, then he gladly would take it. Having him as a friend was better than not having him at all. 

Merlin hesitated before he took the proffered hand, Merlin's hand was cold, and Arthur let their fingers entwined, enjoying the simple touch of skin against skin. The handshake lasted than it was strictly necessary, until he pulled his hand back, but if Merlin noticed his reluctant he did not mentioned it. 

“I guess I will be seeing you in the council?” He asked, grasping at the first thing that came to his mind to be in the presence of Merlin for bit longer. 

Merlin nodded smiling, the wind rustled his hair, throwing it over his eyes, “I will be there. I was happy to know you plan on bringing all members into the discussions, all of them.” 

“I think it’s time our worlds collide in reality, not just by name,” Arthur said, believing every word he said. He knew there would be resistance at first, and that it would take some work and convincing, but he had trust in bringing both mortal and magical members, and make the decisions over their shared lands together. No more outsiders. 

‘I’m proud of you, Arthur,” Merlin said, his head breaking into a dazzling smile, and Arthur confirmed he would always love his smiles. He felt their brilliancy down to his very bones. 

Arthur galloped away leaving Merlin in the clearing, thinking this time he would reds do anything to keep him in his life. Even burying his feelings.


End file.
